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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28834359">frost killing hour</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosegoldblood/pseuds/rosegoldblood'>rosegoldblood</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Bad Writing, Character Death, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Guilt, M/M, Purple Prose, Song: My Skin (Natalie Merchant)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:27:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,094</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28834359</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosegoldblood/pseuds/rosegoldblood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>sometimes love looks a lot like hate.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>frost killing hour</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>title and lyrics from the song <em>my skin</em> by natalie merchant.<br/>i'm sorry this is bad, it was just a quick one-shot. read my <a href="https://rosegoldblood.carrd.co">carrd</a>.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>do you remember the way, that you touched me before?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>life, as dream comes to learn, doesn't end with death.</p><p> </p><p>he thought it would have ended there, dagger in his hand, mask on his face. arms damp with blood that he'd wished were still in <em>his</em> veins and <em>his</em> heart like it was supposed to be. but it wasn't. it was splattered all over the ground, red seeping into rock and wood.</p><p> </p><p>dream didn't think george would forgive him. that was okay, he'd thought. he was doing this for george, for his own good, and it wasn't like he'd have to deal with it. deal with the anger or sadness. because life did end with death. when the colour drained out of george's face, his life and his heart had, too.</p><p> </p><p>and dream would run. he would run away and never come back to that house again because he knew - oh, he knew - that no matter how much the floors were scrubbed and cleaned and worn with time he wouldn't be able to unsee the blood.</p><p> </p><p>the same blood he put there. the same blood that stained his arms and fingers and mask.</p><p> </p><p>that's what he always thought would happen. he always ran away - from his responsibilities, from his friends, from his mistakes. what was one more mistake? what was one more part of his past he had to erase?</p><p> </p><p>he thought it would end with death.</p><p> </p><p>he was wrong.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>all the trembling sweetness, i loved and adored?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"dream," the voice would say, crawling over his back like fingers wrapping around his shoulders but much, much worse. "why did you do it, dream?" he'd clamp his hands over his ears and hope it'd go away. it never did. "why did you kill me, dream?"</p><p> </p><p>"shut up," he'd groan, nails digging into his head. sometimes he'd bleed. sometimes he'd feel it dripping down his face, red sliding down his skin, and it'd hurt - but it was never as intense as the relief he felt, because it was his blood, not george's. he'd bleed a thousand times over for george.</p><p> </p><p>but that wasn't what happened, was it? george was the one bleeding, not dream. and dream failed. he failed - he didn't keep his promise - he's done everything wrong.</p><p> </p><p>sometimes he remembers how george's skin felt under his fingers, smooth and warm. pale, even under the sunlight, when he was bathed by orange and yellow. not that he could see the colours, but still - he'd look beautiful with them over his face all the same.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>your face saving promises, whispered like prayers; i don't need them</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"you've been pretty lonely for most of your life, huh?" dream hazarded a guess, and george almost jerked away from where dream's hand was placed on his cheek. he didn't, though, relaxing back into his touch and pressing his own hand over dream's.</p><p> </p><p>"tch. how'd you know?" he asked, face passive, eyes dull except for that slight spark in them that had told dream he was paying attention, fingers winding through the grass they'd been sitting on.</p><p> </p><p>he saw it - in the way he acted, the way he couldn't express his emotions if his life had depended on it. energetic and fun when it came down to it, but mysterious and passive all the same, like he'd never talked to anyone seriously throughout his life.</p><p> </p><p>he was an enigma, in the way he acted, and dream liked that. he liked puzzles.</p><p> </p><p>he misses it now, too, misses the never-ending riddle of what george's mind was like, what he was thinking. dream'll never get that again. he'll never meet anyone like george again.</p><p> </p><p>"just a hunch," he lied. "well, you've got me now. and you're not getting rid of me so easily."</p><p> </p><p>it was meant as a joke, but dream's heart skipped a beat at the way george's eyes lit up, just a little. "promise?" george asked, fingers tensing over dream's. dream caught his hand, intertwining their fingers, and smiled.</p><p> </p><p>"yep. promise," he said. </p><p> </p><p>yet another lie, though he didn't know it at the time. but a lie was a lie, no matter what excuses he made.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>i need the darkness, the sweetness, the sadness, the weakness; oh i need this</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"you promised," the voice always comes back, and somehow it always knows what to say to make him hurt the most. to make him curl up into a ball and feel the tears start to trail down his face. </p><p> </p><p>"i know," he whispers, voice cracked and broken and quiet, like he has nothing left to give. </p><p> </p><p>maybe he's a ghost. maybe this isn't just a part of dream's imagination - maybe george has really come back, to haunt him, lingering around him like smoke, a stain on him he could never scrub away.</p><p> </p><p>after all, dream killed him once. he doesn't know if he could bear to kill george again. that is, if it's possible. does smoke disappear when you blow it away? does blood no longer stain when you wash it off? </p><p> </p><p>do ghosts die when no one remembers them?</p><p> </p><p>"you promised, dream."</p><p> </p><p>"i <em>know.</em>"</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>i need a lullaby, a kiss goodnight </em>
</p><p> </p><p>maybe it wasn't the sunlight that made george beautiful - maybe it was just george. he looked warm in the sun, looked lovely in the pale, bright moonlight. dream remembers it like it was yesterday.</p><p> </p><p>well, he'll never know the answer to that ghost question, that's for sure. as long as dream existed, george wouldn't be forgotten. not even if dream wanted to forget, because he doesn't think his mind would allow him.</p><p> </p><p>an indelible stain on his mind and his heart.</p><p> </p><p>"hey, hey," george murmured, curled up on his bed, and dream had to take a moment, because it was nearly a religious experience - <em>george </em>on his <em>bed </em>in <em>shorts, </em>eyes half-lidded with sleepiness. "you should like, sing me a song."</p><p> </p><p>"i can't sing," dream answered, almost immediately. not entirely false. "promise you that you really don't want me to sing you a song."</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>angel sweet, love of my life</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"please," george's eyes blinked at him, blearily, dark brown and dazed but determined all the same. dream wrapped his arm around george's midsection, making him squeak softly. "wow. you're mean."</p><p> </p><p>"fine, i'll sing." the smile on george's face was almost worth it. almost. he cleared his throat. "but don't blame me if your eardrums start bleeding, okay?"</p><p> </p><p>he grinned, then, mischievous and smug. "i make no promises."</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>oh, i need this</em>
</p><p> </p><p>it was an old song. one his mother had taught him as a child, a lullaby, because he really wasn't sure what else to sing. nothing too straining to sing, or he'd make a fool out of himself, obviously. and with george looking up at him expectantly, he had to go with that.</p><p> </p><p>george's eyes fluttered open as dream began to sing. it had been a while, but once he started, the words rolled from his tongue and out of his mouth, so used to it like he sung it every day of his life.</p><p> </p><p>"you're not so bad," george whispered. dream knew that if he were any more awake, he would've said something way meaner, but it seemed that sleepy george didn't have the mental capacity to do that. to act.</p><p> </p><p>was that it? did george... act?</p><p> </p><p>no, that wasn't it, dream concluded, letting his thoughts wander as he sang. he'd expected that - enigmas weren't so easily solved. that is, he didn't see george as <em>just </em>a puzzle to solve. that wasn't it at all, either...</p><p> </p><p>"why'd you stop?"</p><p> </p><p>"...no reason."</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>well is it dark enough, can you see me, do you want me?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"you have a nice voice, you know." dream wants to rip the covers off, claw at the walls. they're the same covers george had laid on that night, tracing his fingers into the fabric - the same walls he'd leaned on, been pressed against.</p><p> </p><p>he doesn't want any trace of george left in him or anything around him. he wants him <em>gone.</em></p><p> </p><p>it isn't that easy. nothing's ever that easy.</p><p> </p><p>"shame you use it to only spout lies and fake promises," george continues, and dream thinks that he could see him - slim face, pale skin, wide eyes. the picture of innocence. "because that's all you do, isn't it?"</p><p> </p><p>"no," he lies. <em>you're proving his point.</em></p><p> </p><p>this isn't really george, he wants to tell himself. george would never say these things. except he would, and dream knows that - he knows george could be mean, could be cruel and harsh and bitter when he wanted to be. when he'd been wronged.</p><p> </p><p>and dream wronged him a million different ways that night.</p><p> </p><p>"sorry, i forgot. you run away, too." something creaks against dream's wall, and he knows it wasn't him. is he imagining this all, or is george really here, those angry, spiteful eyes really there, body hovering in front of dream's? "from your mistakes, from the promises you make..."</p><p> </p><p>"go away," dream says, voice thick with tears. "go away. i never meant to hurt you."</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>can you reach me?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"but you did," the voice drops to a whisper. "you did, dream. that's all you'll ever do."</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>oh, i'm leaving</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"i loved you." he isn't angry anymore, just... wistful. reflective. regretful. dream knows that, too, understands. the number of things he regrets when it comes to george... he lives with guilt every day of his life. "i trusted you."</p><p> </p><p><br/>
"i loved you too," dream tries to yell it, but it barely comes out as a hoarse whisper. his throat is scratched and sore and he just wants to go to sleep, because at least when he's asleep he doesn't have to deal with the people he's hurt. "i still love you, now."</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>you better shut your mouth, and hold your breath</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"i love you," dream said, bumping his nose against george's, who wrinkled his nose in return and didn't say anything. "hey, what. come on. say it back."</p><p> </p><p>george rolled his eyes. dream misses that. he misses the way he rolled his eyes when he was annoyed, raised his eyebrow whenever dream made a stupid joke, laughed at his own jokes when no one else did. dream misses everything about george.</p><p> </p><p>"whatever," he replied. then, quieter: "i love you too."</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>and kiss me now, and catch your death</em>
</p><p> </p><p>he remembers the way george's lips felt against his. neither one of them were very good kissers (understatement - they were both terrible at kissing, actually), but dream wouldn't trade it for the world. </p><p> </p><p>dream remembers the first time, too, the way george  looked confused on what exactly to do, mashing his face into dream's like he knew what the concept was but not exactly. </p><p> </p><p>it was kind of bad, but dream didn't mind. not at all. not with the way george was giggling, and apologising for being a terrible kisser (which he was, but details), a wide smile on his face that dream had never seen before.</p><p> </p><p>"practice makes perfect, right?" he said, wiggling his eyebrows, and george laughed again.</p><p> </p><p>those were times long gone, now, times dream will never see again - memories that will only ever replay in his head. he'll never see george again, never get to touch his arm and his face again, never cover george's hand in his while they trained.</p><p> </p><p>"it was for your own good."</p><p> </p><p>was it really? or was it just for his? is he just facing the consequences now, of what he did?</p><p> </p><p>what he would give to kiss george one more time.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>oh, i mean this</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"i'm sorry," he whispers again, fingers clawing at the sheets before he throws them off himself, making a break for the door. "i'm sorry, i'm so sorry, i never meant to hurt you and i never meant to run and i just - i loved you. i love you."</p><p> </p><p>"well, it's too late now," the voice whispers back.</p><p> </p><p>"i know," dream sobs, and he wants to scream until his throat is sorer than it is now. still nothing compared to what he did to george. "i know. i'm sorry. please - just - i never wanted to leave you. i'm sorry."</p><p> </p><p>george doesn't say a word of forgiveness.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>oh, i mean this...</em>
</p><p> </p><p>dream pushes his bedroom door open.</p><p> </p><p>"go ahead. run." the voice is flat, emotionless. no more sadness, just the dull disappointment of the things dream has become. in the back of his mind he wonders if george ever <em>would </em>forgive him. "that's all you ever do, right?"</p><p> </p><p>"that's not true." another lie. george really is right, isn't he? "i'm sorry. <em>i'm sorry.</em>"</p><p> </p><p>he runs anyway.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
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